


Off the Record

by bunniewabbit



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-01
Updated: 2008-11-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 06:04:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunniewabbit/pseuds/bunniewabbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon had no idea that recording an album would be so complicated and frustrating</p>
            </blockquote>





	Off the Record

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during recording of "A Fever You Can't Sweat Out," and if not inspired by, it's certainly informed by the first two minutes of [this video](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iDGflowR5jA).

Brendon stood anxiously plucking at the hem of his t-shirt, shifting from foot to foot as he looked down at the huddled form on the bunk. He glanced around the recording studio, eerily quiet now that everyone else had left; Matt, their producer, had made a tactful exit at some point during the height of the yelling, and Spencer and Brent had cut and run once it had become apparent that Ryan was pretty much done dealing with any of them for the rest of the day.

The fidgeting finally paid off -- Ryan rolled over and just looked up at him, expressionless, and let out a small huff of breath before sliding away from Brendon, leaving behind an open expanse of mattress the approximate width of a person. Brendon sank down gratefully and stretched out on his back beside Ryan with a sigh, fixing his eyes on the upper bunk. He lay quietly for awhile, putting considerable effort into keeping still.

“I'm sorry,” he said, before the silence could grow too thick between them. When Ryan didn't respond, he tried again. “I'm sorry. About today. I was a prick.” One beat. Two. “Ross.”

“I _know!_ ” A pause and then an immense sigh that sounded like it came all the way from Ryan's toes. “I know,” he said again, more quietly. “You're such an asshole, Brendon.”

“It's a gift.” Brendon giggled uncertainly. “Uh. Look, I...”

“Just shut up, Brendon. Just... I don't want to talk about it anymore today, okay?”

Brendon lay there, still staring straight up, until it felt like he couldn't breathe anymore. “I need to talk about it, Ryan.”

“Jesus, Brendon,” Ryan groaned, and twisted away to face the wall.

“You don't need to say anything, all right? I just need to get this out.” He paused, waiting for acknowledgment, protest, _something_ , but when he got nothing he forged ahead. “I can't say that I know what it should sound like, or that I can hear it in my head, or something, because I can't. But I know, just _know_ when it's not right. Or when it _is_. I can feel it. I wish you would trust my instincts a little more, like you do your own, instead of just... automatically disagreeing with everything I say.”

“That's not what I'm doing,” Ryan said tightly.

“It sure as hell is what it feels like.” Brendon could feel the anger from their earlier argument kindling again and took a deep breath, trying to keep it at bay. He rolled over on his side and looked at the dark tangle of Ryan's long hair inches from his face. “I think we can make a good record -- _are_ making a good record, here. But you need to stop fighting me and let me help more.” Tentatively, he put his palm on Ryan's back, feeling the slight expansion of his ribs with each indrawn breath, wishing he could read Ryan's state of mind from the soft in-and-out of air through his lungs. At least he wasn't pulling away. “Ross? Come on.” He moved his hand in small, soothing circles on Ryan's back, over and over the long lines of his ribs and the bumps of his spine, going still at the sound of Ryan's voice.

“I want there to be a second record,” Ryan said, his voice hushed. “And one after that. I don't know if anyone will listen to this one, but it has to be good enough to get us a second one. It has to.”

Brendon digested this for a moment: leave it to Ryan to find a way to apply even more self-inflicted pressure on himself, and by association, the rest of them. "Ryan..." Brendon breathed, tipping his head forward so that his forehead pressed against Ryan's shoulder. It was appalling, amusing and so fucking frustrating in the way that only Ryan Ross could be, and Brendon, inundated by conflicting emotions, honestly couldn't decide how to react. He settled for a couple of deep breaths and then pulled away, making the decision to risk invading Ryan's personal space even further. Lifting his other hand to join the first, he kneaded Ryan's shoulder and back muscles, pressing in deep. Ryan made a low, pleased sound and eased forward a little, granting Brendon's fingers better access, and Brendon smiled and sat up to better accommodate him.

After a little while, Ryan pulled away from Brendon's hands and turned over, slapping at Brendon's knee as he sat up with a commanding, "You." Brendon immediately slid down and over onto his belly, sighing hugely and then groaning as Ryan's strong fingers dug into him. "You are such a slut for it," Ryan grinned down at him.

"I'll bet you say that to _all_ the girls," Brendon purred, letting his eyes slide shut as Ryan snorted in amusement.

He had very nearly drifted off when Ryan finally stopped and lay back down on the bed, pulling a blanket over the two of them and curling up next to Brendon. After a moment, he tugged at Brendon's sleeve and Brendon, never one to turn down snuggles -- especially the rarely-offered Ryan kind -- obliged him by rolling onto his side and pressing his back against Ryan's chest, making Ryan chuckle softly when he reached back and grabbed Ryan's arm, pulling it up and around himself with a contented sigh. Ryan didn't complain, though, so he took that as both potential forgiveness and tacit permission, snuggling back just a little more for good measure and letting sleep overtake him.

 

 

He awoke much later to find their positions reversed; now it was him curled around Ryan, his face mashed into Ryan's shoulder blade, his arm flung around Ryan's narrow waist. He blinked blearily and couldn't quite stop himself from inhaling deeply just to fill his nose with that warm, distinctly Ryan smell (which wasn't _that_ weird, because of course Spencer and Brent had their own smells, too, though Brendon couldn't actually remember ever consciously sniffing either of them. But then, Brendon thought, barely containing a snicker, with Brent being occasionally hygiene-challenged, that might be a hazardous undertaking anyway).

Brendon then turned his attention to extricating himself from the position he was in; his arm was partially clamped under Ryan's elbow, holding Brendon flush up against Ryan's back and ass, and true to Brendon's typical morning physiology, he was hard inside his jeans, and wasn't _that_ going to be awkward unless he could pull away before Ryan woke up. He was glad he had awoken before he had instinctively started pressing forward, unconsciously seeking friction against the warmth of Ryan's body. As it was, they were close enough together that it wouldn't take much movement to make his condition humiliatingly apparent. He lay sleepily pondering this dilemma when a soft touch to his hand shocked him fully awake, his eyes flying open as long fingers slid around his wrist where it lay across Ryan's stomach, and only after Ryan had carefully lifted his arm up and scooted out from under it did Brendon realize that he'd forgotten to breathe.

Ryan lay still, partially turned away from Brendon, and Brendon -- uncertain of what Ryan might or might not have felt or be feeling -- lay still as well, trying not to panic and to keep his breathing as even as possible. He had almost decided that Ryan had fallen back asleep when Ryan's voice cut through the stillness.

"I'm..." Ryan paused to clear his sleep-sticky throat. "I'm sorry, too," he finished, as if he were continuing a conversation already in progress.

"What?" Brendon asked fuzzily. _Too?_ It didn't make sense -- he couldn't be referring to anything that just happened. Could he? Brendon tried to remember what they might have been talking about last night that would explain Ryan's statement.

"I was a dickhead, too. You know. Yesterday?"

Memories of the arguing and anger came back to him in a rush, and he realized with more than a little astonishment that Ryan was matching his apology. Brendon was actually very touched -- Ryan was not big on apologies or admitting that he might have been at fault. Biting his lip, Brendon considered a number of responses and decided in the end that it would be a huge mistake to make a big deal out of it. "What -- you're only owning up to the one day?" he teased, and Ryan reached over and pinched his arm. Hard. "Ow!" he squawked, rubbing petulantly at the spot. "More like a prima donna, anyway," he grumbled, earning himself a jab in the ribs.

Ryan rolled over and up onto his elbow, his suddenly earnest expression as he stared down inexplicably making Brendon feel like squirming. "Seriously, Bren, are we... are we good? Because." Ryan shifted a little, releasing Brendon from his gaze. "Because as much as it might seem like I'm trying to, I can't do this by myself."

Brendon's lungs released the breath he'd unintentionally been holding. "Yeah, hey... Yeah. Totally good." He reached up and squeezed Ryan's shoulder reassuringly. "In fact, I say today we go make that track our _bitch_ , yo," he mock-rapped, throwing in a dorky gang sign for emphasis.

But Ryan didn't crack a smile, his expression fixed and unreadable through the rumpled curtain of hair that obscured part of his face. Looking up at him, Brendon found himself wishing that he knew even _half_ of what went on in Ryan's head. A rather pointless exercise, because he _didn't_ know, and Ryan wasn't telling. Out of the corner of his eye, Brendon saw a hand reach up to push Ryan's hair back, only belatedly realizing that the hand was his own. He froze, fingers extended in mid-air, halfway to their goal and no good place to detour and make it look casual, when suddenly Ryan's hand flashed up and he impatiently tugged the hair back himself. Ryan's eyes clicked back to Brendon's, dark and intense, and Brendon's mouth went a little dry. "What," Ryan said, frowning.

Brendon's mouth opened, but the _"Nothing"_ that he meant to respond with caught in his throat, and he swallowed instead.

The studio door abruptly and noisily swung open, and Spencer was banging his way into the room, loaded down with a backpack and a cardboard tray full of Starbucks coffee cups. His eyes flicked over to the bunk and Brendon thought he saw a flash of something sharp in Spencer's eyes when they met his own. But then Spencer's mouth was quirking up into a smirk, and he drawled, "My god, you two, get a room."

Ryan's unconcerned "Fuck you, Spencer" nicely punctuated Brendon's simultaneous and pithier retort of, "We _had_ one until _you_ walked in, assface," as Spencer crossed the room toward them. Brendon noted with some relief that his mouth and his brain once again seemed to be connected, unlike a moment ago, when... whatever _that_ was happened.

"I brought coffee," Spencer declared unnecessarily as he dropped the backpack with a thump and eased himself onto the end of the mattress, ducking under the upper bunk and wriggling backward until they had to pull their feet out of the way, bumping knees, to make room for him to sit cross-legged.

"We have a coffee maker, you know," Ryan griped at him, but he pushed himself up to snag one of the cups off the tray.

"Your point?" Spencer said, eyebrow raised. "No, that one's Brendon's. This one's yours, unless you've switched to disgustingly sweet coffee drinks while I wasn't looking."

" _Did I ever tell you you're my heeeee-ro?_ " Brendon warbled at Spencer as he carefully took his coffee from Ryan, trying and failing not to notice the brush of their fingers as they exchanged grips on the cup, though what _that_ was all about he was sure he didn't know.

"No, but if you stop singing that song, I might let you live long enough to tell me like a normal human being."

"And since when has he ever done anything like a normal human being?" Ryan interjected.

"There is that," Spencer allowed, adding a long-suffering sigh, and Brendon cackled.

After their initial appreciative noises, they sipped in silence for awhile until Spencer started to scoot off the bunk. "What, no donuts?" Brendon exclaimed, affronted.

"You can get your own fucking donuts," Spencer said as he stood up and stretched.

"Well, then, I totally take back my hero song."

"Yeah, well, I wish I could take back hearing it." Brendon stuck out his tongue and Spencer smiled prettily, before heading to his kit to start warming up.

Brendon started to wriggle his way out from under the blanket. "Wow, I really hope I've left at least a marginally cleaner t-shirt lying around here, somewhere."

"Me, too," agreed Ryan, wrinkling his nose.

"You're just afraid of my intoxicating pheromones, Ross." Brendon leered at him and Ryan rolled his eyes and then leveled a look at Brendon.

"Hey, try not to be a jerk today, okay?"

"Only if you try not to be a control freak," Brendon threw back. "And a diva."

For a heartbeat, Ryan just stared at him, and then he snorted as his head dropped forward, but Brendon saw the grin before Ryan could hide it.

 

~

 

It had to be the stress of recording. Brendon just couldn't make it make sense any other way.

They were making a lot of progress on the album, but Brendon kept getting distracted, finding himself watching Ryan for no apparent reason, or thinking about what Ryan looked like when he was sleeping, or most frequently, trying to figure out just what the _hell_ that weirdness was that happened that morning in the bunk before Spencer showed up. Ryan, himself, seemed oblivious to Brendon's distraction, though occasionally Brendon would glance up to find Ryan's eyes on him before a frown ghosted across Ryan's brow and he looked away.

Evidently, Ryan was not quite as oblivious to Brendon's preoccupation as he appeared, though, because one day Ryan was bent over his guitar trying to re-work the bridge on one of the songs, when without even looking up he said, "You're staring again."

Brendon, who _had_ been staring -- but Ryan hadn't even glanced up, not even _once_ \-- just blinked in surprise.

"Stop staring at me, Brendon. It's creepy."

"I'm not staring, I'm _watching_. It's totally different." Ryan puffed out a breath in what Brendon hoped was amusement and not annoyance just as Brent wandered through. "Am I right, Brent?" Brendon asked, pleading with his eyes. "It's totally different, right?"

Brent lifted his hands in a warding-off gesture. "Whatever, dude. Just. Leave me out of whatever this is, okay?"

Brendon pouted as Brent beat a hasty retreat. He glanced over at Ryan, but Ryan was still folded around his guitar, absorbed in his task. Brendon shifted his position and went back to watching Ryan, but sideways this time. Surely, Ryan couldn't object to _that_.

 

~

 

Compounding the anxiety of recording was Brendon's problem with sleeping; he was struggling with a vicious circle, where the stress made it hard to sleep, and the lack of sleep contributed to the stress. And the same things kept running through his brain over and over, like a CD on repeat with no off switch. Why couldn't he stop thinking about Ryan? What -- was Brendon gay, now? He didn't see how that could be the case, when he was actually pretty sure that he still liked girls. So... bi, then? All the labels sat so uncomfortably on him that he gave up trying to pick one.

Eventually, desperation for answers drove him to experiment on himself one night when he'd been lying in the dark for too long, unable to make his brain shut up. He tried thinking about generic, buxom blondes at first, and then segued to the cute Starbucks barista with the brunette bob and the diamond stud in her nose, how she looked up at him through her eyelashes and the way her rounded, perfect ass looked when she bent over...

To his relief, he had no trouble getting hard, fantasizing about her pert breasts and pale skin, working himself up until he was gasping and pushing frantically into his fist until he just needed that last _something_ to get him over the edge... and flashing across his mind unbidden came the image of Ryan leaning over him, hair falling down around his face as he sucked his lower lip between his teeth and looked intently into Brendon's eyes, and Brendon's head snapped back as he came fast and hot all over his fingers and belly.

Fuck.

 

~

 

Brendon sat poking at the cold remains of the contents of a pizza box, scavenging olives while he covertly watched Ryan working at the computer. For a couple of days now, Brendon's thoughts had been occupied with sifting through every memory he had of Ryan Ross, trying to unearth even a shred of evidence that Ryan might be interested in guys as well as girls, but he was coming up empty-handed. He knew enough about Ryan to know that they had similar taste where girls were concerned, but guys? Brendon, himself, had never even given guys a second thought beyond noticing a random dude's haircut or admiring the way some guys could pull off risky fashion statements, so how was he supposed to know Ryan's thoughts on the matter?

"It's not going to happen, Brendon," Ryan said flatly, snapping Brendon out of his reverie. Brendon's mouth dropped open as Ryan shot him a glance before returning his attention to the screen. "What you're hoping for. What you're wanting. It won't... I'm just not..." Lit by the harsh glow of the monitor, Ryan's lips settled into a hard line. "You need to let it go," he said quietly, irrevocably.

Out of olives and anything to say, Brendon gathered up the pieces of himself and went to go lose them in his work.

 

~

 

So, great. He was gay for a guy who wasn't into guys.

Brendon told himself that this was actually a good thing. You know... safer. No trying to figure out how you're supposed to deal romantically with someone of the same sex. No messy relationship issues. Nothing that might disrupt or interfere with the band.

But, instead of making it easier to let it go, Brendon found that it actually gave him the freedom to explore his feelings. Now that he knew he'd hit a dead end with Ryan he somehow felt less guilty about thinking about him and imagining how it might have gone, what could have been.

And that's how, night after night, he ended up in his bed, sweating into the sheets with his fingers curled tightly around his cock, biting his lip so that Ryan's name wouldn't come tumbling from his mouth.

 

~

 

"You're not giving it _enough_ , Brendon."

"Enough _what_ , Ryan? You keep saying that, but you never tell me what it's supposed to be!"

Ryan glared at him from behind the glass of the control room, his mouth contracting into that familiar, hard line. Matt shrugged apologetically.

"God! What the fuck do you want from me?" In frustration, Brendon ripped the headphones from his ears and turned away. He really felt like hitting something, and he didn't turn at sound of the door behind him because if that was Ryan, Ryan might end up being that something. Unaware of his potential peril, Ryan came over and stood in front of him.

Gritting his teeth, Brendon scowled at him, but Ryan just looked at him, his mouth pulled a little sideways and a slight furrow between his eyebrows. "It needs to be _more_. From here." He calmly pointed a long finger at Brendon's belly. "From your gut. And from here." Brendon watched as Ryan raised his hand higher and laid it against Brendon's chest, warm through his t-shirt.

Brendon snapped his eyes up to Ryan's face, intent on defiance, because, by God, Brendon was putting everything he had into these vocals, and where did Ryan get off telling him that it wasn't enough? But then he met Ryan's eyes and forgot everything he was going to say, because Ryan was looking at him, his eyes gone soft and his mouth relaxed and slightly open, his palm still searing Brendon's chest. He watched as Ryan's gaze flicked down to Brendon's mouth and back up again, and Brendon knew his own eyes went wide at that moment because Ryan's did, too, right before Ryan took a stumbling step backward, turned on his heel and vanished back into the control booth where he sat with his back to the window.

Brendon gaped in bewilderment, and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and waited until the confusion dissipated and settled into something harder and hotter.

Okay, so maybe Brendon had untapped reserves of teen angst, turmoil and anger to draw from, after all.

 

~

 

"Okay, what did you do to him this time?" Spencer asked, looming over him, accusation in his voice. If Spencer Smith had one fault, it was that he nearly always took Ryan's side. And this despite the fact that Spencer, of all people, should know better.

"What? Nothing!" Brendon protested, backed up against the counter in the studio's kitchenette, carefully cradling his cereal bowl.

"He's giving me one-word answers to everything, and these days he usually only does that when the two of you have been fighting over something. So, spill."

"I swear, Spencer--"

"Honesty would serve you well in terms of _not bleeding_ , here, Urie."

Brendon twisted and set his bowl behind him, throwing Spencer a sideways glance. "Spencer..." Brendon sighed and looked down at where his hands gripped the counter, fingers nervously drumming. "I think." His fingers stilled, clenching tightly around the counter's edge. "I think Ryan almost kissed me today," he said in a rush. "Thought about it, maybe wanted to. Maybe would have if I hadn't..." He chewed on his lower lip.

"Oh," Spencer responded, matter-of-fact. Then his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Did you punch him?"

"No! No." Brendon shifted his weight to his other leg and stared down at his toes. "Spencer, I..." He scrubbed his hands through his hair, unable to continue. He felt Spencer's eyes on him, appraising.

"Okay, then." Evidently satisfied, Spencer was already out the door by the time Brendon looked up, leaving him to contemplate his Lucky Charms alone.

Brendon wrapped his arms around his head, curling in on himself. "Oh, God, I don't under _stand_ ," he gritted out through clenched teeth.

 

When Brendon finally dragged himself back out into the studio, Spencer took one look at him and wordlessly handed him a pair of drumsticks. Brendon played until his muscles burned and Spencer's kit was spattered with his sweat.

~

 

That night Brendon woke in darkness, breathing hard as he rolled into still-warm spunk, his mind full of searing visions of Ryan pinned underneath him, naked and writhing, arching into his touch. Shuddering at the assault of after-images, Brendon swiped his fingers through his come and then wrapped them around his oversensitive and hardening dick, jerking himself methodically and ruthlessly until the darkness went white as he shattered and then collapsed, plunging into mindless slumber.

 

~

 

The next few days were hellish. Recording time was growing short, as were their tempers. No one was getting enough sleep, now, and the long hours in the studio were wearing on them.

It didn't help that the tension between Brendon and Ryan was so palpable and stifling that occasionally Brendon had to escape to the bathroom just to breathe. Spencer was onto him, though, and kept dragging him back out if he was taking too long, throwing admonitions at Ryan to "behave" and "play nice." It was almost enough to make Brendon think that Spencer was actually on his side, for a change. Then again, maybe Spencer was just coldly calculating enough to know the best way to manipulate them into getting done what needed doing.

The sixth time Spencer hauled him out of the bathroom, he paused and gave Brendon a hard look followed by a one-armed hug and a messy, wet kiss to his temple, and Brendon decided that motives weren't important -- he was just glad that Spencer was there.

 

~

 

They were down to literally hours before their studio time was at an end, and Brendon was a wreck. On edge with exhaustion and nerves, he couldn't seem to get his brain or his voice to behave the way he knew they would if he could just _focus_ , but that's where his brain had other ideas. It was as though his concentration was stretched so taut that if he forced it too far it snapped back and veered off in a completely different (and decidedly unhelpful) direction. And everywhere it ended up, there was Ryan.

Well past a dozen tries -- he'd actually lost count somewhere around eleven -- at the same two lines of the vocal track he was trying to complete, he fumbled the phrasing and simply slumped in place, eyes closed, out of swear words. He chanced a quick look through the glass at Ryan (who had gone from encouraging to vaguely threatening to tight-lipped silence during the course of the session) and saw him stand up and reach for the door. It swung open and Ryan stood there, eyes narrowed at Brendon and hands balled into fists as he said, his tone of casual indifference at odds with his expression, "Matt, can you give us two minutes, please?"

"Sure, Ryan, we can take five or even ten, if you-"

"Two. Please," Ryan interrupted tersely, eyes still glued to Brendon. Presumably, Matt left, but Brendon didn't dare take his eyes off Ryan as he started stalking toward him.

Spencer, who was ostensibly there for moral support but had mostly occupied his time with leafing through magazines, appeared in the doorway behind Ryan and started to offer to leave, as well, but Ryan just waved a dismissive hand at him. "All right," Spencer agreed, and out of the corner of his eye, Brendon saw him raise a fist, "But aim high. He still needs his mouth, or we'll never get through this."

Ryan didn't even spare him a look, advancing right up and into Brendon's space so that he took a startled step backward as Spencer's slightly alarmed voice called out, "Whoa -- kidding! Hey, guys, _break?_ We could all use a few... Oh," he finished quietly, just as Ryan grabbed both sides of Brendon's head and brought their lips together hard.

Brendon was so surprised that at first he just stood there as Ryan chastely kissed him, but then anger flared hot and bright and he yanked himself away, because the _last_ thing he needed right now was another mindfuck from Ryan Ross. "What the _fuck_ are you playing at, Ross?" he fumed, reduced to glaring as Ryan lay long, warm fingers over his lips and solemnly raised an eyebrow. And Brendon wanted to rage at him, tired of how Ryan always got his say first, as though anything that Brendon might offer was of lesser importance, not worthy of consideration until afterward, if even then. He was _tired_ of it.

But he was also just plain tired. So, so tired. Looking into Ryan's eyes, he felt his anger deflate into resignation under the weight of his exhaustion, and he let his eyes slip shut as he nodded once and felt Ryan's fingers pull away, the air cool against his lips where they had been, and he waited.

Instead of Ryan's expected words, Brendon felt Ryan's lips again; soft, this time, almost hesitant, and Brendon couldn't stop his small intake of breath at the sleek brush of them against his own mouth, warm and cool at the same time, like satin on skin. Then without thinking he was angling his head, tilting it upward as Ryan's fingers slipped around, threading into his hair and cradling the back of his skull, and their mouths slid together and fit, perfect and right, the sweet slide of Ryan's tongue against his own setting his whole body thrumming, an electric current that started deep in his belly and radiated outward, leaving him clutching at Ryan's arms and t-shirt like they were a lifeline.

"About fucking time," Spencer muttered, and Brendon heard the sound of a page turning. Then he didn't hear anything at all but the furious racing of his heartbeat for about the next sixty seconds, which was all they had left before Matt was to return. It was all he could do not to whine when Ryan pulled back, breaking the heady kiss.

"I know you can do this," Ryan said softly before he let Brendon go.

Brendon nodded once, and when Ryan kissed his forehead Brendon managed to relax enough to release his grip on Ryan's shirt.

"Wow," Spencer said with mock incredulity as they detached from one another. "If I'd known that _that's_ what I'd get if I pissed you off, I'd've tried harder."

"Fuck off, Spencer," Ryan said mildly, but all that Brendon could manage was to meet Spencer's bright grin with a dazed one of his own.

 

 

Standing in front of the microphone again, Brendon completely missed his cue on the next take, and he shook his head, huffing out a laugh before taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. He nodded at Matt that he was ready to try again. His next attempt was perfect.

Brendon couldn't help it -- he knew there was an enormous, idiotic grin plastered across his face as he beamed at Ryan through the glass. Ryan reached over and pushed the intercom button. "Nice," he said, the tiniest of smiles touching his lips, making him look just a little smug. "Now, keep it up. We've got a long way to go today."

Brendon sighed. Today was going to be long in a way that none of the previous days had been.

 

~

 

By the time the clock ran out on their recording session, Brendon found himself quietly freaking out -- yet again -- in the back of the van as they loaded up their equipment. Ryan had grown progressively more distant as the day wore on, nearly to the point of being cold, and Brendon was back to being confused, and worse yet, suspicious.

He tried to convince himself that Ryan's behavior was understandable, considering the circumstances and the pressure they were under to complete the album -- a task that proved impossible, in the end: there were parts that would never be completed to their satisfaction, now, and they would just have to live with that. Maybe that was enough to explain the way Ryan was acting. Brendon remained unconvinced.

He dragged the box Ryan dropped on the floor of the van over to the side and shoved it up against the wall before turning to watch the taut lines of Ryan's retreating back as he vanished into into the building. Spencer appeared, a drum case in each hand, which he walked up the ramp and deposited next to Brendon's carefully stacked pile of instruments. "Spencer," Brendon said, just as Spencer turned to go get another load. Spencer faced him, eyebrows raised. "What happened this morning... You know, with the. Do you think he..." He let out a small, frustrated growl. "Because, you know, if you hadn't been there, I might start thinking that I dreamed the whole thing."

Spencer shot a look at the doorway and then turned back to Brendon. "Ryan hasn't told me shit, Brendon." Brendon nodded, something inside his chest going numb. He turned away and gave the box another hard push, wedging it into place. "For what it's worth, though," Spencer continued, his tone softer, soothing, "Ryan can be accused of a lot of things, but being intentionally cruel to one of his best friends isn't one of them."

Keeping his face turned away, Brendon laughed, the flat, humorless sound of it making him wince. "It's funny, you know, Spence, because I keep thinking about how badly he wanted to get this record done, and maybe--"

" _Brendon_ ," Spencer interrupted sharply, his hand closing on Brendon's forearm. When he didn't continue, Brendon glanced up to find Spencer's eyes fixed on him, intent and earnest. "Ryan wouldn't jerk you around like that." Keeping his eyes on Brendon's, he relaxed his grip on Brendon's arm, not quite letting go. "But, I don't know what all this might be doing to his head," Spencer added, and then he left Brendon alone in the van again.

_His_ head? Brendon thought, and might have laughed it it weren't for the sick feeling in his stomach.

Ryan came through the doorway just as Spencer reached it, and they exchanged a look -- probably something in the elusive Ross-Smith code that Brendon had never and probably _would_ never be able to crack -- and Spencer nodded, continuing on inside. Brendon busied himself with arranging the cargo and didn't turn when he heard Ryan's footsteps on the ramp. Two guitar cases were deposited at his feet, and Brendon grabbed one and fitted it neatly into the space he'd reserved for them.

"Brent's almost done packing up the rest of the stuff," Ryan said, and Brendon grunted in acknowledgment as he bent down to grasp the handle on the second case. As he leaned forward with the guitar, he felt something brush across his hip, as if fingers had tried to snag a pocket or a belt loop and missed, and he froze for a split second before setting the instrument into place. "Bren..." Ryan said, voice low, as Brendon continued to fuss with the cases. "Brendon, hey. Stop for a second." Brendon stopped. But he didn't turn around.

Ryan expelled a long breath behind him. "I didn't want this to happen," Ryan said slowly, and then stopped. The numbness in Brendon's chest turned cold, and he closed his eyes, trying to block out the world. "Or, maybe I should say I tried not to want this to happen," Ryan amended, and Brendon's eyes blinked open, because closing them seemed to be affecting his hearing. He pivoted slowly around to face Ryan, but Ryan was staring off to the side. "I buried this so long ago... I actually thought I was over it." He looked at Brendon, his expression pained. "You were never supposed to know," he finished in a near-whisper.

Brendon opened his mouth, knowing he should say something, but his brain was stuck on ... _buried this so long ago_ and he couldn't form a coherent thought. Ryan appeared not to notice, his gaze wandering around the van as he continued, "And then, you..." Ryan waved his hand vaguely, his mouth twisting sideways. "I couldn't believe what I was seeing, couldn't let myself believe you were serious. Brendon, I didn't even know you _liked_ guys."

"I don't! I... didn't." He managed a sheepish grin at Ryan's raised eyebrow. "I like... _you_ ," he finished lamely and shrugged. Ryan rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, well, you scared the shit out of me," he accused. "Whether you were serious or not, all I could see was how it was going to fuck everything up -- our friendship, the album, the _band_..."

Brendon stopped him with a kiss, hooking his hand behind Ryan's neck and tugging him down to seal their mouths together, because this, _this_ was what was important. The rest was just noise.

Ryan made a small sound in his throat as he returned the kiss, and Brendon kissed him harder, deeper, sure that there was no better feeling in the world than to give himself over to the warm pull of Ryan's mouth. But then Ryan wrapped his arms around Brendon's shoulders and just sort of... _melted_ into him and around him, and yeah, okay -- one more in what Brendon was certain was going to be a very long list of 'no better feelings'.

They were interrupted by Spencer's delicately sardonic cough. "So... are we okay, now? Or do I need to go looking for a fire hose?"

Brendon smiled against Ryan's lips before pulling back. "No, no, we're okay. I think. Ross?"

Brendon noted with satisfaction that Ryan looked a little dazed as he glanced at Spencer and then back at Brendon, eyes wide. "Yeah. Yeah, I think we actually are," Ryan said, voice tinged with something that sounded like amazement. Then he smiled, open and bright, like sunshine, and Brendon was nearly knocked over, struck by how long it had been since he'd seen that expression on Ryan's face. He silently promised himself that he would try to make it appear there as often as possible, from now on.

Then Ryan's smile faltered, and he looked back and forth between Brendon and Spencer. "Guys..." he said, sounding anguished. "We didn't _finish_ it."

"Ryan..." Spencer chided, a we've-already-been-through-this look on his face. Brendon tried not to be too relieved that it was something completely different that was distressing Ryan now, especially as Ryan still had an arm slung across Brendon's shoulders.

"Hey, it's okay," Brendon said reassuringly. "Nobody has to know but us. And I think it's going to be _good_ , Ross," he added, his stomach dipping a little, slightly giddy, as Ryan's eyes met his own. "I can feel it."

"Yeah," Ryan breathed out, "I think maybe it will be."

And Brendon grinned, knowing from the look in Ryan's eyes and his shy smile that it was more than just the album that they were talking about.

"So..." Spencer interjected. "Should we take pity on Brent and go help him pack up the last of it?"

Brendon scrunched up his face. "Do we have to?"

"Come on, you should have to carry something once in awhile."

"Aw, _Mom_ ," Brendon complained, but he started to follow Spencer anyway, grabbing Ryan's elbow and tugging him along. "So, Ross. How long has it been, exactly?"

"What?" Ryan threw him a confused look.

"Since you succumbed to my numerous and undeniable charms."

Ryan groaned. "Oh, _God_..."

"I really don't think I should be hearing this," Spencer remarked over his shoulder. "Really."

Brendon poked a finger into Ryan's ribs, making him jerk sideways. "I'll bet it was my kickass Gollum impression during our first rehearsal together that did it."

"Fuck _off_ , Brendon," Ryan whined.

"Oh, my God, it totally _was_ , wasn't it?" Brendon exclaimed gleefully, and his triumphant laughter rang out loud and long down the hallway.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~


End file.
